


Love in the Time of Quarantine

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coronavirus, Developing Relationship, How is that not yet a tag, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Quarantine, stuck together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23200387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: Enjolras and Grantaire are forced to quarantine together because of COVID-19.That's it, that's the fic.
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 102
Kudos: 256





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look, we all knew it was coming. I am trying to write about this with as much sensitivity as possible, but if I didn't at least aim to make some light in a dark situation, I wouldn't be living up to my obligation as a fic writer. 
> 
> Definitely a WIP as I'm mostly working on this in snippets since heaven forbid I get to stop working in the time of COVID-19. Will update when I can.
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

“Uh-oh,” Combeferre said, and Courfeyrac’s head snapped up.

“You saying ‘uh-oh’ is like someone else panicking,” he said suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

Combeferre sighed and turned his laptop around to show Courfeyrac the email he’d been reading. “A panelist at the conference Enjolras just got back from tested positive for COVID-19.” Courfeyrac looked blankly at him and Combeferre rolled his eyes. “The coronavirus,” he said patiently, and when Courfeyrac’s expression didn’t change, he added, “You know, the pandemic currently sweeping the world?”

Courfeyrac scowled. “I’m aware of what COVID-19 is,” he said icily. “I was waiting for you to get to the point of why I should care about a random conference attendee.”

“You should care because Enjolras sat on a panel with this person,” Combeferre said. “Meaning he’s been exposed. Meaning—”

“Meaning he has to self-quarantine,” Courfeyrac said, looking torn between horror and excitement. “Oh my God, Enjolras alone, with only Twitter as his source to the outside world? That is truly one of my worst nightmares.”

“And yet you sound almost...gleeful,” Combeferre said.

Courfeyrac grinned. “Well, sure. If it’s my worst nightmare, imagine what it’s going to be like for the alt-right trolls on Twitter.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes. “Anyway,” he said pointedly, “we need to let Enjolras know, and we need to know who else he’s come in contact with so that they can be alerted to self-quarantine as well.”

Courfeyrac snorted. “He’s been home for eighteen hours and hasn’t even seen you and I yet. Who the hell could he have come in contact with?” Combeferre just shrugged, already dialing Enjolras’s number on his cellphone, and Courfeyrac sighed. “At least put it on speaker,” he complained. “I want to hear Enjolras’s reaction.”

“You are a terrible friend,” Combeferre informed him, even as he put his phone on speaker.

“Hello?” Enjolras said, sounding tired, and Combeferre winced.

“Hey,” he said, glancing at Courfeyrac. “We, uh, we have some news.” He quickly ran through the email he’d received, and after a particularly colorful round of expletives from Enjolras, Combeferre cleared his throat. “One other thing – have you been in contact with anyone since you got home? We need to let them know.”

Enjolras paused. “Um, actually...” he started, trailing off with a rather awkward pause. 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged startled glances. “Who could you possibly have seen?” Courfeyrac demanded.

“Am I on speakerphone?” Enjolras asked.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac ignored him. “If you’ve been in contact with someone, you’ll need to let them know,” Combeferre told him, while Courfeyrac complained, “You’ve been home twelve hours and you saw someone before seeing us?”

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Informing him won’t be a problem,” he said stiffly. “He’s still here.”

“Still there?” Combeferre repeated, confused, but Courfeyrac just smiled. Smirked, really, the wide smirk of a man who knew exactly what was going on.

“You have a gentleman caller over, don’t you?” he practically crowed, and Combeferre looked up at him startled. Enjolras’s silence was deafening, and Courfeyrac’s grin widened. “You dog. What’d you do, pick someone up at the airport?”

“More accurately, he picked me up from the airport,” Enjolras muttered.

Combeferre frowned. “Wasn’t Grantaire going to pick you up from the airport?”

There was another long pause, but this time, Combeferre realized what was happening before Courfeyrac did, all of the blood draining from his face. “Oh, God,” he said.

“Anyway, I’ll tell him and keep you posted on any symptoms,” Enjolras said hastily. “Talk to you later.”

He hung up and Courfeyrac looked at Combeferre, confused. “What?” he asked. “I don’t get it.”

Combeferre sighed and looked up toward the ceiling as if praying for strength. “Grantaire picked Enjolras up from the airport,” he said, and Coufeyrac scowled.

“That I got,” he said.

“And he hasn’t left since.”

Realization dawned on Courfeyrac’s face, his eyes widening. “Oh my God,” he breathed. “Enjolras and Grantaire are sleeping together?!” Combeferre just shrugged helplessly and Courfeyrac’s smile faded almost as quickly as it had appeared. “Oh my God,” he repeated. “They’re going to kill each other.”

* * *

Enjolras peeked into his bedroom, watching the unmoving lump burrowed under the blankets. “Grantaire,” he said, at his usual volume, and when he got no response, he raised his voice. “Grantaire!” **  
**

The lump sat up aburptly, revealing Grantaire, crease-marks from the blankets visible on his stubbled face as he stared wildly around. “Whossere?” he said incoherently, and Enjolras rolled his eyes.

Mostly at himself, for feeling something like fondness at the sight.

“Over here,” he said, somewhat amused, and Grantaire turned to squint at him.

He brightened when he saw Enjolras leaning against the doorway, before unexpectedly raising his arm to block his eyes. “Oh!” he exclaimed, and Enjolras frowned.

“Are you ok?” he asked, concerned, taking a step into the room.

Grantaire dropped his arm just far enough to smirk at him. “Oh, my mistake, I thought it was the sun. Turns out it’s just you.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes again. “You know, Shakespeare did it better,” he said mildly, sitting on the edge of the bed, and Grantaire’s grin widened.

“Yeah, well, you know what they say about monkeys and typewriters – give me enough time and one day I will rival Shakespeare in my descriptions of you.”

Enjolras was tempted to roll his eyes again but just managed to refrain. Instead, he cleared his throat and seized on the segue. “Well, speaking of giving you time—”

Grantaire’s grin faded so suddenly that Enjolras felt like someone had turned the lights off. “Is this the part where you tell me that last night was fun, but can never happen again?” he asked dully.

“What?” Enjolras said blankly. “No, of course not.”

“Because I would understand if you did,” Grantaire said, tracing an idle finger along the pattern of Enjolras’s duvet. “I mean, we never really got a chance to talk last night, and—”

Enjolras reached out, resting his hand on top of Grantaire’s. “Grantaire,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

Grantaire hesitated for a moment before twisting his hand under Enjolras’s to lace their fingers together. “In that case,” he said, his previous smile twitching again at the corners of his mouth, “what were you going to say?”

Enjolras hesitated. “You’re going to be mad at me,” he said, and Grantaire arched an eyebrow.

“Oh, this ought to be fun.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “So first and foremost, I may have exposed you to COVID-10, so we’re going to be quarantined together for a few days.”

“Ok,” Grantaire said, looking at him like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and Enjolras frowned.

“You’re not upset?”

Grantaire looked amused. “I get to spend more time with you,” he said. “That’s the opposite of a problem to me.” He tilted his head. “Which you know, meaning there’s some other reason why I’m going to be mad at you.”

Enjolras winced. “I, uh, I may have accidentally told Combeferre and Courfeyrac about us,” he mumbled

Grantaire blanched. “You _what_?!”


	2. Chapter 2

“You _what_?!”

Enjolras winced at the horror in Grantaire’s voice. “I told Combeferre and Courfeyrac,” he said. “Or at least, I told them enough that they’re going to put things together and figure it out.”

“And, uh, what in the ever living fuck convinced you that that was a good idea?” Grantaire demanded, standing up and looking as defiant as anyone could wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. “When you and I haven’t even talked about what this is—”

He broke off, his expression darkening. “Is that what this is about?” Enjolras asked, somewhat uncertainly. “Because you and I can—”

“No, that ship has pretty much sailed already, hasn’t it,” Grantaire said, his voice low. “You did a damn good job of making sure that happened.”

Without another word, he brushed past Enjolras, all but storming into the kitchen, and Enjolras trailed after him, at somewhat of a loss of what to say. “Would you not follow me?” Grantaire snapped, crossing his arms in front of his bare chest and glaring at Enjolras, who held his hands up defensively.

“I’d say I’m sorry but if I did, I’d be lying, because I don’t have any idea what I’m apologizing for,” he said evenly.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Of course you don’t,” he said with a sigh. Enjolras reached out to grab his arm, but Grantaire shrugged away, his glare deepening. “Don’t,” he said, his voice low. “After all, I’m pretty sure by CDC guidelines we’re supposed to be social distancing.”

It was Enjolras’s turn to roll his eyes. “That’s probably not necessary,” he said, leaning against the wall and watching as Grantaire opened one of the cupboards in the kitchen and peered inside. “Given that—”

“Given what?” Grantaire asked. “Given that my dick was just in your—”

“Grantaire.” Grantaire fell silent and Enjolras sighed. “Look, I’m sorry,” Grantaire arched an eyebrow at him, and Enjolras elaborated, “I still don’t know exactly why you’re this upset, but what I can tell you is that when Combeferre called to tell me about the Coronavirus issues, he said I needed to tell anyone I’d come in contact with, and Courfeyrac was saying there couldn’t have been anyone, so I had to correct them, and…”

He trailed off and Grantaire sighed. “Of course you had to,” he said, though this time there was almost something fond mixed in with his clear frustration, and he switched from the cupboard he was looking in to another. “You always have to have the last word, after all.”

It took every ounce of Enjolras’s self-control to not respond to that and subsequently prove Grantaire correct. Instead, he watched as Grantaire opened yet another cupboard, clearly trying to find something. “If you’re looking for coffee, I already made a pot.”

He meant it as something of a reconciliation, but Grantaire just shook his head distractedly. “No, I’m looking for–” He broke off, his expression brightening. “Ah-ha!”

He pulled an almost entirely full bottle of whiskey from the cabinet above Enjolras’s refrigerator. “I knew there was a reason I gave you this for your birthday a few years back.”

“If memory serves, it was because you were hoping the whiskey would loosen the stick up my ass,” Enjolras said sourly. “Your words, not mine. But I’m sure it’s definitely possible that you somehow anticipated being stuck with me for two weeks.” Grantaire ignored him, grabbing a glass from the cabinet, and Enjolras scowled. “Are you really going to drink that now? It’s not even ten o’clock in the morning!”

Grantaire considered that for a moment. “Good point,” he said, putting the glass back and instead grabbing a coffee mug, filling it halfway with coffee and topping it off with whiskey. “Cheers.”

Enjolras tried to bite back his temper, but watching Grantaire standing in his kitchen, drinking whiskey and coffee instead of just talking to him like an adult— “Seriously?” he demanded, his voice low and frosty, and when Grantaire ignored him, Enjolras’s tempter got the best of him. “See, this is exactly why—”

“Why what, Apollo?” Grantaire asked, taking a sip from his coffee mug, something of a challenge in both his tone and his expression.

A muscle worked in Enjolras’s jaw. “Never mind,” he said stiffly, turning to head back to the bedroom and make his bed, figuring it was past time to leave Grantaire to his whiskey.

But as always, Grantaire refused to just let it be. “No, please, don’t hold back on my account,” he called after Enjolras, something sardonic in his tone, and Enjolras whirled around, his temper again getting the better of him.

“This is why this was a mistake, ok,” he burst. “Because heaven forbid you take absolutely anything seriously, least of all this.”

Grantaire stilled, his expression unreadable as he stared at Enjolras. “I thought you weren’t going to say last night was a one-time thing,” he said softly.

Enjolras shook his head. “And I didn’t.”

Grantaire’s expression twisted. “Then you and I have a very different idea about what constitutes a mistake.”

Enjolras sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t want to say that last night was a one-time thing, just like I don’t want to say it was a mistake,” he said honestly. “But goddamnit, Grantaire, you make it really fucking hard sometimes.”

Grantaire’s lip curled, and he took another defiant swig of coffee. “What can I say,” he said bitterly. “I guess I’m just talented like that.”

For a moment, Enjolras considered arguing further, but he knew if he did, the next two weeks would be entirely unbearable. “Whatever,” he huffed dismissively instead. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

Grantaire smirked, even if it didn’t remotely meet his eyes. “Want some company?” he asked, leering at Enjolras, who wasn’t even remotely amused.

“Right now?” he asked instead, giving Grantaire a look. “No.”

“Your loss,” Grantaire said with a shrug, draining his mug and turning to refill it.

As Enjolras made his way down the hallway to the bathroom, he couldn’t help but feel like it really was his loss.

And just his.

After all, when was the last time that Grantaire had cared enough about anything to care about losing it?


	3. Chapter 3

Enjolras took about twice as long in the shower as he ordinarily would, hoping the steam would help clear his head, or something. The only thing it seemed to clear was his sinuses, and he got out of the shower in about as foul a mood as when he had gotten in. **  
**

He was gratified to see, when he finally emerged from his bedroom fully clothed, that Grantaire’s mug was sitting on the coffee table, mostly untouched, and the bottle of whiskey didn’t look any less full. “My turn,” Grantaire muttered, standing from the couch without making eye contact with Enjolras and making his way to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Enjolras sighed and went to pour himself a cup of coffee before automatically calling Combeferre. “Did you kill Grantaire already?”

Enjolras pulled his phone away from his ear and glanced down at it, his brow furrowed. “Courfeyrac?” he asked. “Did you pick up Combeferre’s phone?”

“No,” Courfeyrac replied, giggling, and Enjolras could just make out what sounded like Combeferre trying in vain to grab his phone back. “This is Combeferre, I just—”

He let out a pained grunt that told Enjolras Combeferre had likely punched him in his kidney or some other tender spot, and a moment later, Combeferre said, sounding a little winded, “So how are things going?”

“About as good as Courfeyrac’s likely doing right now,” Enjolras said with a sigh, heading back to his bedroom and setting his mug of coffee down on his nightstand before flopping down on his bed. “Honestly, I have no idea. We’ve already fought and we’re only about twenty minutes into two weeks stuck together.”

“What did you fight about?” Combeferre asked, and Enjolras thought it was to his credit that he sounded almost sympathetic.

Emphasis on almost.

He also seemed like he was trying not to sound amused.

“He’s pissed that I told you and Courf about us,” Enjolras told him. “Mainly because neither he nor I are sure that there is an ‘us’. Or what that means.” He paused before groaning and scrubbing a hand across his face. “I sound like Marius, don’t i?”

This time, Combeferre didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “I mean, you don’t not sound like Marius,” he hedged, after what sounded like a hastily stifled laugh. “But that being said, it has to be...awkward, for lack of a better word, to be stuck together before you’ve even had the talk.”

“The talk?” Enjolras repeated blankly, sitting up. “What, like—” He winced. “Like the birds and the bess?”

Combeferre let out a long-suffering sigh. “No,” he said patiently, “like the ‘what are we’ talk.”

Enjolras blanched. “Oh God, that’s even worse,” he muttered.

There was the sound of a brief scuffle and Enjolras held his phone away from his ear, waiting for whichever of Combeferre or Courfeyrac emerged triumphant. “I think it depends,” Courfeyrac said, sounding a little out of breath, and Enjolras frowned.

“Depends on what?”

“On what you want you and Grantaire to be.”

Enjolras sighed. “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it,” he murmured. “And if I don’t know?”

Again there was a scuffle. “Then in my opinion,” Combeferre said, with an edge of triumph in his voice at besting Courfeyrac once again, “while you have two weeks on your hands to figure it out, you should focus on being friends with Grantaire so that at the very least you walk out of this on good terms.”

“For once I agree with Combeferre,” Courfeyrac called from the background, and Enjolras sighed again.

“Well,” he said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He hung up and grabbed his cup of coffee, taking a swig right at the moment Grantaire appeared in his doorway, wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist. Enjolras choked on the sip of the coffee, unable to tear his eyes away from the water glinting off of Grantaire’s bare chest.

Sure, they might’ve had sex the night before, but Enjolras hadn’t gotten a chance to see him, not like this.

And it was a hell of a sight.

Grantaire leaned against the doorway and raised an eyebrow. “Take a picture,” he said. “It’ll last longer.”

Enjolras tore his eyes away and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said, a little sheepishly.

“Don’t apologize,” Grantaire said sharply, and Enjolras glanced back up at him. “Not for this. Not for—”

He broke off, and Enjolras cocked his head slightly. “Not for what?” he asked.

Grantaire flushed, and Enjolras couldn’t help but stare as the color spread down Grantaire’s neck and across his chest. “Not for wanting me,” Grantaire muttered. “Just – don’t apologize for that.”

Enjolras looked back up at him. “Ok,” he said simply. “I won’t.”

Grantaire shook his head, a small, soft smile on his face. Then he cleared his throat. “So, uh,” he said, clearly searching for a segue. “Do you have any clothes I can borrow? My clothes from yesterday are dirty.”

“Well, I have that hoodie you left here once,” Enjolras said thoughtfully, trying to rack his brain for whatever else he might have that would fit Grantaire. “And I have a pair of sweatpants I stole from Bahorel that should fit you better than they fit me, seeing as how they’re about three sizes too big for me.”

“The ones that say ‘SWAG’ across the ass?” Grantaire asked resignedly. “That’ll be an excellent outfit to wear for the next fourteen days.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I also have a washer and dryer, so you can wash your clothes from yesterday,” he pointed out. “And I’m pretty sure if you ask nicely, Joly or Bossuet can swing by your place and pick up some other clothes for you.”

“You have an in-unit washer and dryer?” Grantaire asked, ignoring his point and instead whistling under his breath. “This must be how the one percent lives.”

“Hardy har,” Enjolras said dryly, standing up to grab the clothes for Grantaire. He tossed Grantaire the hoodie before digging through the bottom drawer of his dresser in search of the sweatpants, which he also threw to Grantaire.

Then, abruptly, he turned to face the wall. “What are you doing?” Grantaire asked, sounding dumbfounded.

“Letting you get dressed,” Enjolras said, like it was obvious.

“You’ve seen me naked already,” Grantaire pointed out, sounding amused.

Enjolras waved a dismissive hand. “Sure, but not like, y’know, this.” He paused, then scowled. “I can tell you’re mocking me behind my back, you know.”

“Oh, good,” Grantaire said. “Then all my years of doing so at Les Amis meetings haven’t been wasted.”

“Just get dressed,” Enjolras snapped, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He was relieved to hear fabric rustling as Grantaire clearly did start to get dressed, and to take his mind off the memory of what Grantaire looked like without any clothes on, Enjolras cleared his throat. “So Combeferre suggested that you and I should spend the next two weeks focusing on being friends first,” he said, staring determinedly at the wall.

“I’m sorry?” Grantaire asked, a little distractedly, his voice oddly muffled.

Enjolras cleared his throat again. “Combeferre said that for the next two weeks, I should focus on being your friend before figuring out what, uh, what this means.”

“Ok,” Grantaire said slowly. “Is that what you want?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said softly.

“You can turn around now,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras turned around. Grantaire didn’t look nearly as ridiculous as he had clearly feared, and Enjolras eyed him appreciatively before Grantaire repeated, “Is that what you want?”

“No,” Enjolras said, surprising even himself with how decisively he said it, how decisive he felt. “No, I think we should use the next two weeks for something else.”

“Oh yeah?” Grantaire asked, running a hand through his wet curls. “And, uh, what exactly did you have in mind?”

Enjolras hesitated for only a moment. “I think we should use the next two weeks as a trial run.”

“A trial run?” Grantaire repeated.

Enjolras nodded. “Yeah. A trial run. For this. For – for us.”

Grantaire’s expression was unreadable as he stared at Enjolras for a long moment. “And what happens at the end of the trial?” he asked, his voice low. “Because this—” He quirked an eyebrow. “—Us – it doesn’t have a return policy.”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras said honestly. “All I know is, we’ve got two weeks to figure it out.” Grantaire’s expression didn’t change and Enjolras worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before blurting, “So what do you say?”

“You’ve never needed my permission before,” Grantaire pointed out evenly.

Enjolras shook his head. “Maybe not,” he said, “but I’d still like to have it.”

A small half-smile lifted one corner of Grantaire’s lips. “Well, I’m not much one for trying, but in this case, I suppose I’ll consent to try.” Enjolras felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest, and when Grantaire held his hand out, he didn’t hesitate, crossing to him and letting Grantaire lace their fingers together, smiling slightly as Grantaire twisted his hand to raise Enjolras’s knuckles to his lips, pressing a kiss against them. “So what do you want to do first?”

Enjolras blinked. “Honestly? I have no idea.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Well,” Grantaire said, taking a step into Enjolras’s bedroom. “I can think of something to do.” **  
**

Enjolras arched a questioning eyebrow and Grantaire looked pointedly at Enjolras’s bed. Enjolras flushed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “No,” he said firmly.

Grantaire blinked. “No?” he repeated, incredulous. “I mean, affirmative consent and all that jazz, I’m not going to, like, try to convince you to change your mind, but, uh, you were the one who wanted to try this, so…”

“And I do want to try this,” Enjolras said, “but that means I want to actually try this for real, and last time I checked, that normally means starting from the beginning and spending some time together before jumping back into...y’know, that.”

A slow smirk crossed Grantaire’s face, and Enjolras was certain he was going to mock him for referring to sex as ‘that’. Instead, Grantaire took a different tack for mockery. “Normally?” he repeated, amused. “Because you have so much experience in this realm?”

Enjolras’s flush deepened. “You know I don’t,” he muttered. “But maybe that’s the point.”

Grantaire’s smirk faded, and he considered Enjolras for a long moment. “Ok,” he said decisively. “Then let’s go.”

“Go?” Enjolras asked, arching an eyebrow. “Go where?”

“Living room,” Grantaire said. “I have an idea.”

* * *

Grantaire’s idea, as it turned out, was board games. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Enjolras asked cautiously. “You and I don’t have the best history when it comes to competition.”

Grantaire snorted, sorting through the various board games Enjolras had collected over the years, normally left over from sundry Les Amis gatherings at Enjolras’s places. “No,” he corrected, “you and I don’t have the best history when it comes to you getting it in your head that we’re competing for something that I couldn’t care less about.”

“And you care about board games?” Enjolras asked dryly.

Grantaire’s grin sharpened. “Oh yes,” he said, emerging with two ancient, battered plastic containers. “I care very much about board games, especially when it comes to sinking your battleship.”

Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “Is that an innuendo?”

“Honey, if you have to ask…” Grantaire trailed off. “You want red or blue?”

Enjolras scowled. “And _you_ have to ask that?”

Grantaire chuckled and passed the red set over. “Better dead than red,” he said blithely, ignoring the glare Enjolras shot him. “So what do you say to a friendly wager?”

“Like what?” Enjolras asked suspiciously, settling down on the couch and starting to arrange his plastic ships into the peg board. “And if you say sex again—”

Grantaire held his hands up defensively as he sat down on the far end of the couch. “Mind out of the gutter,” he scolded. “I was thinking more loser has to buy dinner. Winner’s choice.”

Enjolras considered it for a moment. “Fine,” he said, “but the restaurant needs to do in-house delivery since Grubhub and Uber Eats are just pausing processing fees, not canceling them entirely.”

“Fine but at this rate they’re also gonna have to deliver booze,” Grantaire muttered as he placed his own ships.

“What was that?” Enjolras asked sourly.

Grantaire smiled beatifically at him. “Nothing,” he said sweetly. “I believe red goes first?”

Enjolras squinted at him, still suspicious, but eventually, the competitive urge won over. “F2,” he said, poised with a red peg.

“Miss,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras’s scowl deepened as he switched his red peg for a white one. “C4.”

Enjolras huffed a sigh. “Hit,” he admitted, and Grantaire grinned.

“First blood,” he said with a wink. “Let’s hope my luck holds.”

And it certainly seemed to, as Grantaire called out hit after hit, and Enjolras kept seeming to miss. As Grantaire closed in on Enjolras’s Destroyer, and the only ship of Grantaire’s Enjolras had somehow managed to sink was his carrier, Enjolras almost threw his gameboard aside. “God _damn_ it,” he growled, and Grantaire glanced up at him, raising both eyebrows in bemusement.

“I’m sorry?” he said, stating it more like a question than a fact.

Enjolras glared at him. “No you’re not,” he said. “You’re about to win.”

Grantaire’s eyebrows inched toward his hairline. “That is generally the purpose of the game,” he said. “Not to mention this would’ve been a lot more difficult if you hadn’t arranged your ships in a square.”

“How do I know you haven’t been cheating?” Enjolras demanded, and Grantaire stared blankly at him.

“Why on God’s green earth would I cheat at Battleship, of all fucking things?” he asked incredulously. “What do I have riding on this? Pride? A $10 dinner because win or lose you’re going to insist on ordering falafel from the shawarma stand down the road?”

“I was not,” Enjolras muttered mutinously, mainly because he absolutely had planned on ordering falafel from dinner. “Besides, it’s not your pride on the line but mine. You want to see me lose.”

Grantaire stared at him. “Enjolras, one time I watched you get so caught up in making a point that you walked face-first into a door,” he said. “Between that and the number of bar fights you’ve picked with guys twice your weight class, I’ve been watching you lose for years now.” He paused, considering it. “Of course, it never hurts to see it one more time…”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “See, I knew it,” he said. “You cheating—”

“I didn’t cheat—”

Enjolras dove forward in an attempt to grab Grantaire’s game board but somehow misjudged the angle, his legs tangling with Grantaire’s as he missed the board completely and instead somehow landed in Grantaire’s lap, one hand planted on Grantaire’s chest, the other closed around Grantaire’s wrist. Grantaire was still half-smiling, unspoken laughter in every line of his face, though it softened slightly as his nose just brushed against Enjolras’s. “Well,” he started, though he couldn’t seem to come up with anything else to say.

“Cheater,” Enjolras whispered, feeling Grantaire’s heart beat steadily under his hand, and Grantaire’s smile widened.

“If anyone’s cheating here, it’s you,” he murmured. “Because if I were cheating, I would say screw the rules and do this.”

He leaned forward, just slightly, almost lazily, his breath ghosting lightly across Enjolras’s skin before he kissed him. For the briefest of moments, Enjolras considered pushing him away, but instead, he opened his mouth against Grantaire’s with a sigh.

He could feel Grantaire’s lips curve into a smile against his, could feel Grantaire weave a hand in his hair as if to pull him even closer, and it took Enjolras a moment before he was able to pull back, sitting upright. Grantaire blinked, still smiling softly, almost a little stupidly, at him. “Too fast?” he asked, skimming a light hand down Enjolras’s back.

Enjolras shook his head. “No,” he said, before giving Grantaire a slightly sheepish smile. “I’m actually just really hungry."

As if on cue, Enjolras’s stomach growled, and Grantaire laughed. “Alright then,” he said, carefully shifting Enjolras off of his lap and standing up. “Falafel it is. You want an extra pita?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, “and extra—”

“Garlic sauce, I know,” Grantaire said, heading over to grab his phone.

Enjolras hesitated for only a moment before grabbing Grantaire’s game board from where he had set it, taking a deep breath before opening it and seeing—

Well, seeing all of Grantaire’s ships perfectly arranged, with all of Enjolras’s missed shots surrounding them.

“Son of a bitch,” Enjolras said to himself, shaking his head, a slow smile spreading across his face as he turned to look at Grantaire ordering dinner for them both.

Maybe that had been his problem all along, he mused as he watched Grantaire joking on the phone with the shawarma guy. Maybe his aim had always been a little off.

He snorted and shook his head.

Or, far more likely, he was just really bad at Battleship. And luckily, he had fourteen days still to improve his aim – one way or another.


	5. Chapter 5

After their early dinner of falafel (with extra pita and garlic sauce, and Enjolras was certainly not going to make anything of Grantaire having his dinner order memorized), they played more board games. **  
**

A rousing game of Chutes and Ladders ended in further accusations of cheating, this time for Grantaire, who was convinced that Enjolras had somehow rigged the spinner. “Oh, come the fuck on,” he snapped as he landed on the long cookie jar slide for the third time. “You’re doing this on purpose!”

“Yes, me and my magical powers over the spinner,” Enjolras said dryly.

Grantaire scowled at him. “If anyone could sweet talk an inanimate object into conspiring against me, it’s you.”

Enjolras blinked. “I think there might be a compliment in there somewhere.”

Grantaire’s scowl deepened and he flopped back against the couch cushions. “Just take your turn,” he huffed.

After Chutes and Ladders, they started a game of Risk that initially threatened to stretch into the early hours of the morning as they matched each other’s strategies. But then, Enjolras made a critical mistake – or a stubborn stand, as Grantaire called it, the fine lines around his eyes crinkling as he grinned at Enjolras – stretching his troops too thin on the eastern front. 

“Shall I refer to this as your Waterloo?” Grantaire asked innocently, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as he captured Enjolras’s last remaining stronghold. “The downfall of the great emperor?”

“Keep insinuating that I’m Napoleon and I will never speak to you again,” Enjolras said through gritted teeth. As Grantaire’s grin widened as he clearly pretended to consider it, Enjolras added, “Besides, the Eastern Front metaphor is more suited to the Battle of Stalingrad than Waterloo.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Would you rather I call you Hitler, then?”

Enjolras glared at him with an intensity that could’ve melted paint, even though he knew damn well he had walked right into that one. “Not if you value your life.”

Still grinning, Grantaire just shook his head as he began to clean up the pieces. “Fine,” he said, “but you’re welcome to call me Stalin any time you want.”

Enjolras smacked him lightly on the arm but even he had to laugh. He sat back, glancing at the time and surprised to see how late it had gotten. The day had passed far quicker than he had anticipated, and he suspected he had the company to thank for that. He looked back at Grantaire, who had just snagged the last falafel and looked like a deer in headlights at being caught. “Classy,” Enjolras said dryly, and Grantaire gave him the finger. “What should we do now?”

Grantaire swallowed before smirking and suggesting, “Well, there’s always Twister…”

He had barely gotten the suggestion out before his smirk was replaced by a wide yawn that he couldn’t quite hide behind his hand.

“How about bed?” Enjolras asked, laughing slightly.

Grantaire’s smirk returned. “I can certainly make that work,” he started, and Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“I meant for sleeping,” he said pointedly. “Since this is—”

“A trial run, I know, I know, whatever.” Grantaire stretched and sighed. “So I guess I’ll take the couch, then?”

Enjolras stood and reached down to help Grantaire up. “Don’t be an idiot,” he scoffed. “Bed’s big enough for the both of us, and it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve slept together.”

“In either sense of the word,” Grantaire murmured before shrugging. “I should put up at least a token protest, but my back isn’t what it used to be, and I’m definitely not going to say no to your tempurpedic.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes again, but this time it was with a smile, and he led the way back to his bedroom. They both quickly changed into pajamas (or at least, Enjolras did; Grantaire stripped down to his boxers, and Enjolras tried very hard not to stare), and Enjolras slid into bed, expecting Grantaire to follow.

Instead, Grantaire sat down on the edge of the bed, his expression troubled. “Are you ok?” Enjolras asked, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow.

Grantaire shook his head. “No,” he said honestly. “I mean, I’m fine, it’s just, this is…”

He trailed off. “Everything you ever dreamed it would be?” Enjolras supplied with a joking half-smile, one that Grantaire did not return.

“More like exactly the opposite of what you were intending.”

Enjolras’s smile faded. “What do you mean?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I mean, this isn’t a trial run.”

“What are you talking about?” Enjolras asked cautiously, trying – and failing – to follow Grantaire’s sudden shift in mood. All things considered, he thought it had been a good day, certainly better than he had been anticipating when he realized he had feelings for Grantaire – and realized how much of a disaster that could potentially be, for both of them.

“I’m talking about today,” Grantaire said. “I mean, God, Enj, when was the last time you took a day off from work? Whether your job work or Les Amis work? And when was the last time you spent all afternoon playing board games and not checking your phone every five minutes?”

Enjolras didn’t even have to think about it. “Honestly? Never,” he admitted.

Grantaire huffed a laugh, though it was without much humor. “Exactly.” He sighed. “Today ended up being a really fucking good day, but it wasn’t a trial run of anything. Or at least, not anything that matches what our reality would actually look like.”

“It could,” Enjolras offered half-heartedly, and Grantaire shook his head.

“No,” he said decisively, “because then you wouldn’t be you. And that wouldn’t work for me.” He paused, pretending to consider it. “Not in the long run, anyway.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes even as he couldn’t help but smile slightly. “So then what do you propose we do?” he asked.

Grantaire took a deep breath. “I propose we actually try and live our lives like we normally would, at least within the constraints we’ve been given, and see if we actually fit together, if this actually works.”

Even though Enjolras nodded at first, he froze when he heard the two-letter word that left him feeling suddenly cold. “If?”

Grantaire’s expression didn’t change. “Yeah, if.” He sighed. “Look, I want this more than anything I’ve probably ever wanted, but…” He trailed off and shook his head. “But I don’t tend to get what I want, so I know better than to think it’ll work.” He poked Enjolras lightly through the covers, and Enjolras laughed and pushed his hand away. “You’ve always been the one for blind faith, not me.”

As much as Enjolras wanted to argue, Grantaire had a point. Not that Enjolras had any intention of actually telling him that. “Ok,” he said instead. “So tomorrow we go back to trying to live our lives, even stuck in quarantine, and we see what happens.”

Grantaire shook his head again. “Not tomorrow, he said, standing up, and Enjolras frowned up at him. “If we’re going to actually do this for real, we need to start tonight.”

He started toward the door, pausing when Enjolras asked, “Where are you going?”

“To sleep on the couch.”

Enjolras sighed. “You don’t have to.”

“I know, but it’s for the best.” Enjolras reaches out for his hand and Grantaire half-smiled. “Look at it this way – if we make it through the next two weeks while actually being ourselves without wanting to kill each other, we can probably make it through anything. Besides, your couch probably has better back support than my mattress at home.”

He leaned over and kissed Enjolras’s forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning, Apollo.”

Enjolras reached up, cupping Grantaire’s cheek for a second before letting him go. Grantaire half-smiled at him before standing again, turning the light off on his way out and closing the door after him. 

Enjolras rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Grantaire really did have a point, and even though Enjolras knew that, he still couldn’t help but wish they had waited until the morning.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to drift off, but his mind was far away from his bedroom, and racing through far too many thoughts.

And mostly wondering why his bed suddenly felt so empty.


	6. Chapter 6

Enjolras was woken by his cellphone vibrating irritatingly against the side of his face, and he groaned, blinking blearily at the screen before answering it. “Hey Ferre,” he mumbled, running a hand across his face. **  
**

“Well, good morning to you too,” Courfeyrac said, sounding amused, and Enjolras squinted at his phone again.

“Courf?” he asked. “Don’t tell me you stole Combeferre’s phone again.”

“No, there’s this magic thing called speakerphone,” Combeferre said, sounding just as amused as Courfeyrac had.

Enjolras glowered at his phone, even though he knew neither of them could see him. “Now you figure that out,” he muttered. “Dare I ask why you are calling so early?”

“Early?” Courfeyrac repeated, with mock concern. “My dear man, it’s after 8 o’clock! On any other day, we’d already be meeting by now.” He paused, and when he spoke again, Enjolras could hear the smirk in his voice. “Of course, that was before you decided to take up some late night extracurriculars, if you know what I mean.”

Combeferre made a disparaging noise. “Everyone knows what you mean,” he said sourly. “You have the subtlety of a foghorn.”

Enjolras tactfully chose to ignore both of them. “I forgot to set my alarm,” he told them. 

“Because you were up so late doing...well, Grantaire?”

Courfeyrac let out a yelp that indicated Combeferre had undoubtedly elbowed him in the stomach. “Speaking of Grantaire,” Combeferre said sternly, “how are things going?”

Enjolras shrugged as he finally sat up, running a hand through his hair. “They’re going,” he hedged. “We’re working on it, at the very least.”

“And I assume Grantaire is still asleep?” Combeferre asked.

“That I do not know,” Enjolras said, stifling a yawn. “He slept on the couch last night.”

There was a moment of silence before Courfeyrac asked, sounding confused, “But...how?”

“Well, see, he lay down on the couch and closed his eyes and—”

“Hardy-har,” Courfeyrac said dryly. “I mean, how exactly did you two manage to stay up all night bumping uglies like rabbits with him sleeping on the couch?”

“Bumping uglies?” Combeferre repeated incredulously, while Enjolras rolled his eyes and answered shortly, “We didn’t.”

There was another moment of silence at that. “You didn’t?” Combeferre repeated.

“No,” Enjolras said. “We’re taking a step back, trying to figure this whole thing out without relying on sex.”

“Oh.” There was a world of disappointment in the way Courfeyrac said that simple word, and Enjolras sighed, already bracing himself for the lecture. Luckily or not, Courfeyrac changed tacks, sounding smug instead as he added, “Well, sorry your quarantine’s not going as well as my social distancing is.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed. “What makes you say that?” he asked warily.

“Well, unlike you, I’m actually getting some, so…”

Enjolras raised both eyebrows at that – not because Courfeyrac getting laid was even remotely surprising, but more because Courfeyrac sounded like there was something more going on there. “Do I even want to know from who?”

“It’s from whom,” Courfeyrac corrected, still sounding unbearably smug, “and actually—”

“We’ll call you later,” Combeferre interrupted, hanging up the phone before either Enjolras or Courfeyrac could say anything else.

For a moment, Enjolras just stared at his phone, wondering if he should call them back and deciding against it. Instead, he stood and stretched, running a hand through his curls once again before making his way into the living room. To no one’s surprise, Grantaire was still asleep, snoring like a freight train, his mouth hanging half-open. 

Enjolras half-smiled at the sight, his smile turning appreciative as he noticed that Grantaire’s shirt was partially rucked up from sleep, and he tore his eyes away from the muscles he could see moving under Grantaire’s skin as he breathed, heading instead into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

But by the time the pot of coffee had finished brewing, Grantaire hadn’t so much as stirred, and even though Enjolras was normally in a better mood with some caffeine in him, he instead felt his amusement souring into something like irritation as he sipped his coffee, watching Grantaire sleep.

He decided to take matters into his own hands, nudging the couch with his foot. “Grantaire,” he said, and when Grantaire didn’t move, he kicked the couch a little harder. “Grantaire!” Grantaire groaned and shifted, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Good morning,” Enjolras said pointedly. “Are you going to get up at some point?”

Grantaire cracked one eye open. “Trial run,” he muttered, and Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

“Pardon?”

Grantaire opened both eyes and yawned so wide his jaw cracked. “This is supposed to be a trial run for what a relationship would really be like,” he reminded Enjolras.

“Yes,” Enjolras said, slightly impatiently. “Hence why I’m awake and ready to get to work, on my couch, where I usually get things done.”

Grantaire yawned again. “And hence why I’m going back to bed,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and burrowing back against the couch cushions. “There’s another five hours before I’m normally awake.”

Enjolras glared at him, exasperation flaring in his chest. But he took a moment – and a deep breath – to tamp it down. “Then how about you at least go sleep in my bed so that I can get some work done?” he suggested instead, only a hint of irritation in his voice.

Grantaire opened his eyes again. “Deal,” he said sleepily, getting to his feet and kissing Enjolras’s cheek before slumping into Enjolras’s bedroom.

Enjolras’s irritation all but disappeared at that, and as he sat down to settle into his work, it was with a small smile on his face. A smile that was long gone by the time his stomach growled to remind him it was time for lunch, while Grantaire had yet to emerge from the bedroom. He glanced at the time on his phone and scowled, glaring in the direction of his bedroom and tempted to go wake Grantaire just to ask him if this was really how he intended to spend his entire day.

He was saved from doing that or something equally stupid by a knock on his door, and he stood instead to go answer it. He was surprised to see Joly standing there, a canvas tote bag filled with art supplies in hand, though it was less of a surprise to see that Joly was fully decked out in a respiratory mask and wearing a face shield, both of which he had undoubtedly swiped from work.

“I thought there was a PPE shortage,” Enjolras said mildly.

It was hard to tell what face Joly made at that, but his reply was good-natured. “Luckily, the hospital I work at got an infusion of supplies from a local manufacturer, so we’re actually pretty well stocked for the moment.” He held out the tote bag for Enjolras, revealing for the first time that he was also wearing latex gloves. “Delivery for Grantaire. He texted me last night to see if I could bring him some supplies.”

“And you agreed?” Enjolras asked, mostly joking.

Joly laughed, though the sound was muffled through his mask. “Actually, he texted Bossuet, but Bossuet and I both agreed that he shouldn’t risk it, given, y’know—”

“How bad his luck is?” Enjolras finished for him. “I sure do.” He reached out and took the tote bag. “Thanks, I’ll be sure Grantaire gets this.”

“Speaking of Grantaire, where is he?” Joly asked.

Enjolras sighed. “Still asleep,” he reported, trying not to sound as irritated by that fact as he felt.

He could only tell that Joly had smiled at that by the tone of his voice as he said, “And let me guess, it’s driving you crazy.”

Enjolras jerked a shrug. “It’s not my day that he’s wasting,” he said, entirely unconvincingly.

And sure enough, Joly didn’t even remotely sound like he believed him. “Well, at least it’s not forever,” he told Enjolras bracingly.

Enjolras hesitated. “Well, that’s kind of the thing – we’re trying to see if it could be,” he muttered.

Joly stared at him, and Enjolras shifted uncomfortably, realizing for the first time that if Grantaire hadn’t told Joly about their trial run, it was probably for a reason. “What do you mean?” Joly asked.

“I mean…” Enjolras sighed, wondering what he could tell Joly that wouldn’t make Grantaire murder him. “We, uh, we slept together. And realized we have feelings for each other. So we’re...I don’t know, we’re using this quarantine as a trial run of sorts.”

“And you’re sure that’s a good idea?” Joly asked, all traces of amusement gone from his tone.

Enjolras shrugged again. “As good an idea as any, I guess,” he said with a weak chuckle, on that Joly didn’t return. Enjolras’s smile faded. “What?” he asked Joly, trying not to sound as defensive as he felt.

“Just—” Joly broke off, looking unusually grim, even in just the small bit of his expression that Enjolras could see. “Look, this may be a trial run for you, but it’s not for Grantaire.”

Enjolras blinked. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is, at the end of a trial run, you can normally return something if it didn’t work out. And there’s not a return policy on someone’s heart.”

The metaphor would have been more expected from Jehan, and Enjolras stared at Joly, waiting for him to say something that made sense. “What are you saying?” he asked, when it became clear that Joly wasn’t going to.

Joly sighed. “I’m saying…” He trailed off, clearly looking for the right words. “I’m saying, you break it, you buy it.”

“Is there a reason you’re talking in retail terms?” Enjolras asked sourly, not waiting for a reply before adding, “Besides, what makes you think I’m going to break it?”

Joly met his glare evenly. “What makes you think you won’t?” Enjolras had no answer for that, and Joly sighed again, glancing down at his watch. “I have to get back to the hospital. Tell Grantaire to call me, ok?”

Enjolras nodded, watching as Joly retreated from his door, and when he had disappeared down the stairs, Enjolras closed the door, looking down at the bag of supplies Joly had brought, his expression troubled.

He had no intention of breaking anyone’s heart, much less Grantaire’s.

But he had a bad feeling, as he crossed back to the couch and realized that there was still no indication of Grantaire waking up anytime soon, that at the end of this whole quarantine, his intentions might not make that much of a difference.


End file.
